


once bitten, twice confident

by subsequential



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akira: [inhales] Akechi: Keep that shit up and I'll throw your ass in lockdown., Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Humor, Innuendo, Multi, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Sumire: please help the wardens of my brain prison keep flirting with me and eachother??, Velvet Room Attendant Akechi Goro, Velvet Room Attendant Persona 5 Protagonist, Wildcard Yoshizawa Sumire, banter without plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subsequential/pseuds/subsequential
Summary: What’s the best way to handle two playful bickering wardens in your mind? By joining in on the banter, of course.Sumire is just trying to fuse her Personas in peace. Please. For the love of god. She has no idea what’s going on.(An AU in which Sumire is FeMC, and Akira and Akechi are her Velvet Room attendants.)
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira/Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	once bitten, twice confident

**Author's Note:**

> [ Inspired by the Shuakesumi Discord server](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/740648773067210782/790807154042863617/image0.png), which I was peer pressured into writing this by. Enjoy your crumbs, heathens.
> 
> If this fic feels like it doesn’t flow well, that’s because it doesn’t. Such is the case with banter, so just roll with it.
> 
> Also, yes Sumire is unlocking the electric chair in September-ish. And I gave Akira Lavenza’s book instead of Justine’s clipboard, so just roll with those too. There is no such thing as “plot” in this house.
> 
> Title is from [ Daredevil](https://youtu.be/vsfAiEEGuKo), off the Persona 5 Strikers soundtrack.

“On your feet, Inmate.”

From the cot in her cell, Sumire stirs. She blinks herself awake and squints up at the familiar grimy ceiling. The second-nature interior of the Velvet Room blearily bleeds into view— a separate plane of existence that assumes the form of the heart of its guest.

Three walls and a set of bars, one cell of many in an open blue room. A prisoner of her own mind, hm? She considers that irony for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it.

Once she’s sure she won’t stumble if she does, she finally pushes herself to her feet, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Craning her neck to find the source of the voice, her eyes settle over two familiar blue-clothed figures outside of her cell.

To the left is Akechi, standing with one hand on his hip and the other gripped around his baton, bent at the elbow. He wears his usual neutral expression, the same one that even after all these months, still manages to make Sumire feel guilty of something.

To his right, Akira, looking pleased about one thing or another. He’s half-turned to face Akechi, head tilted out of interest. In his hands is the thick brown book Sumire has come to known as the Persona Compendium, containing lines and lines of identifying notes and data. He wears a gentle smile, his face a complete disparity to that of his parallel.

And both of them: striking sets of golden eyes that pierce straight through her.

Sumire wonders why they summoned her here. She warily approaches the bars and wraps her fingers around them, the cuffs holding her back slightly.

“Yes?” Sumire prompts the pair, curiously.

Akechi huffs like she’s interrupted something, despite having been the one to call her over. “Our Master feels you worthy of a gift, which is odd, considering you haven’t done anything to deserve one.”

“Come _on_ , Akechi, you don’t have to be rude about it,” Akira pouts at him, before turning to regard Sumire with a resigned smile, “Sorry. You know how he is.”

“Nobody was talking to you—“

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I _offend_ you?—“

Before the two can start their bickering, Sumire clears her throat politely, and their heads snap to her. She almost fumbles under the weight of their combined gaze, but recovers herself spectacularly and not at all like an idiot.

“U-Um, is that so? Well… thank you, Igor-san,” she says, earning an amused nod from the bizarre-looking as always man, seated in his usual spot behind the attendants. Sumire notices how he always seems to ignore them during these kinds of summons. “May I ask what this gift is?” she asks the wardens.

Akechi grumbles something about the audacity of some people. Akira flips through his book absentmindedly with a chuckle, smile still in place. His swift fingers catch on the pages.

“It’s the electric chair. You’ve progressed well in your rehabilitation, and we feel this special ritual will aid you well through your journey,” he explains fluently. It sounded like it’d been rehearsed, which Sumire could only assume to be at the behest of Akechi; he did always make a point of trying to get Akira to be more professional, less nonchalant all the time.

But, wait — the _electric chair?_

Sumire registers the look of aghast that must be on her face a moment too late, and Akechi regards her with a smirk. “Don’t seem so scandalized, Inmate. If you have any hope of improvement, you should learn to steel yourself better.” He taps the baton against the palm of his free hand, bored. “The electric chair’s purpose lies in sacrificing Personas for item transmutation. With this, you may modify them into high-level gear, such as weapons or armor.”

“It’s okay if you’re confused,” Akira reassures, once again proving his stark contrast to Akechi. Sumire figures that’s the charm of them both. “If you have any questions, our Master will be free to answer them later,” Then he puts a hand next to his mouth as if to elude Akechi, leaning in close to her cell and whispering, “He even told me he’s considering making more rituals if you continue to advance at this rate. But you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”

Akechi remains unimpressed with him. “You can stop with the theatrics, Akira. Our Master _asked_ you to tell her,” he says, scoffing. “There is no need to make a show of it.”

Akira leans back with a laugh, shoulders rising as he does. It’s a high, riveting noise that’s more breath than sound. “You _do_ realize who you’re talking to, right?”

“A complete moron with brain damage?”

Sumire hurriedly glances between the two of them, and at Akechi’s gloved fingers tightening around his baton. She throws up her hands as if to play mediator, her chains clinking with the gesture, “Ah! Please don’t fight.”

“We are not fighting, Trickster. I am simply putting this troglodyte in his place.” Akechi sighs, looking from Sumire to Akira with something like disgust in his eyes. “Plus, there’s no need to rise to his defense. He likes when I do it.”

Sumire tries and fails to stifle a gasp.

Akira grins, “No arguments here.”

“…You’re so shameless, Senpai—oh!—“ Sumire puts a hand over her mouth, not realizing what she’s just said. “I’m, I’m sorry, it just slipped out…”

Both of the wardens shoot her a curious look.

And then, to Sumire’s blatant surprise, Akira _giggles._

“No, no, please. You can call me that. By all means,” he says, absently drumming his fingers against the hardcover of the compendium. There’s a quite pleased look on his face, overriding the nervous line of her own stare into something much more meaningful.

Sumire, still taken aback, rapidly nods. And then she laughs too, a little giddy. 

“Well, if you’re sure…“

She was not expecting an, er… otherworldly being like Akira to extend that sort of privilege to her. It made her happy, proud that she’d earned that right.

Akechi exhales in what could be considered a fraction of a laugh. “Akira here has quite the penchant for _nicknames._ He’ll let anyone call him anything, so don’t feel too special.” Then he scoffs at the other warden like he’s the dumbest thing Akechi’s ever seen.

“A little sentimentality every now and again could do you good, _Goro_ ,” Akira advises him, a devilish lopsided grin on his lips, “You’re gonna go bald if you don’t shelve your pride high enough to let the Inmate call you Senpai.”

“I will _take_ this baton and _beat_ you with it until you can’t make those half-baked remarks any _longer_ —“

“Yes, honey. Anyway,” Akira turns back to Sumire. His face remains amusedly nonchalant, and overall oblivious to the quickly boiling over Akechi at his right. “Before we let you go, did you want to fuse anything while you’re here?” he asks politely.

“Oh, yes!” Sumire blurts, startling even herself. She clears her throat twice, “Um, yes. I’d like to perform an advanced fusion.”

“Ooh, daring today. Let’s see here,” Akira says, sounding delighted and humming to himself. Akechi walks over as he begins to flip through the compendium with almost blink-and-you-miss-it speed. “A group guillotine, right?”

Sumire nods. “Yes. Chi You-san, please. I should have the required Personas…” She moves mindlessly to push up her glasses before realizing she isn’t wearing any, quickly reverting her fingers to fiddle with her hair. Akechi seems to notice the gesture, but he doesn’t say anything.

“You know, you don’t have to use honorifics with the Personas,” Akira points out, though he’s smiling.

Heat immediately floods to Sumire’s cheeks with the force of a tsunami. She was sort of hoping they wouldn’t pick up on that. “It’s a bit of a habit…” she murmurs, resigned.

“Don’t worry, it’s cute,” Akira quips with a wink. Akechi rolls his eyes and tells him to _shut up_ and _stop hitting on the Inmate._ Sumire blushes further, if that were possible.

Oddly, a peculiar rush peels up her spine— this all feels familiar. Like an edged sort of déjà vu, sharp like a knife, firm in her gut. Sumire has never been one for fate, but even she can’t deny this inkling of a feeling that somehow, she’s known the both of them forever. Perhaps in another life? She feels they could have been great friends.

Akira runs his finger down the thick pages, muttering various names under his breath. He stops partway through one of the lists, clicking his teeth together thoughtfully. “Ah! Here we are,”

From where he’s looking over Akira’s shoulder at the compendium, Akechi’s eyebrows furrow together. “Are you _certain_ you’d like to fuse this?” he questions Sumire.

She swallows, unsure if she’s done something worthy of scrutiny. “Um, why…?”

“This Persona is of the Chariot Arcana,” he says, slowly and carefully, “…And I personally cannot stand that thickheaded baboonish friend of yours.”

Then, Akira: “Do you have something against blonds?”

Instantaneously, Akechi’s golden eyes narrow into slits. “What? No,” he insists, tone flat.

“I think blond hair is nice, personally,” Sumire adds.

“His hair is not the point.”

Slipping his blue bookmark between the pages, Akira snaps the compendium shut and runs a dark-gloved hand over the cover. “Don’t worry, he won’t steal our dear Inmate from us,” he chuckles like a child tapping on the glass of a fish tank. 

Akechi continues to pin the warden with an unrelenting glare. “What did I _just_ say about your stupid comments?” he hisses through grit teeth, cheeks going pink.

“It’s okay, Akechi-san! I’m not going anywhere,” Sumire promises with a light smile. Akechi makes a noise like he’s been struck and turns away from her, but not fast enough that she can’t see his face quickly reddening. The knowledge that she’s made him blush shouldn’t bring with it such a deafening clang of pride, but it does.

Akira casually waves the other warden off and turns toward Sumire. “Psh. He’s just being anal. Here, ready?” She nods again, an amusedly satisfied look on her face.

Then he snaps his fingers, the sound reverberating against the high walls of the prison. Sumire feels several mythical presences dip out of her mind and shift into one, leaving a powerful, potent force in its wake. She takes a deep breath, adjusting to this new energy brimming within. Somehow her body feels lighter.

“Thank you, Senpai,” she says, gratefully. Akira offers a kind nod of acknowledgement.

From behind him, Akechi tsks, “Didn't we agree on group fusions being _my_ job, Akira?”

Akira cranes his neck back to look at him. “Are you jealous?” he teases, before relenting, “You can do the next one. I was just in the mood for executing with my mind. Must a guy say more?” he adds, almost flirtatiously poutish, and twirls a grey-white curl around his finger for good measure.

Akechi closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales. He stays like that for a few seconds before speaking again, this time to Sumire, “Was there something else you needed, before I can no longer be of any assistance due to profuse vomiting?”

Sumire thinks for a bit, while the both of them deign to ignore Akira pouting and exaggeratedly drooping his shoulders. “I was going to ask if I could strengthen the Persona I just fused,” she says, a bit meekly.

At that, Akira perks right back up, and Akechi straightens his spine with a smirk, “Ah, one of my personal favorite duties. What unfortunate soul will we be hanging today?” he asks, backstepping into his usual spot.

Sumire presses two fingers to her temple, centering and sharpening her thoughts. She pores over the internal list, each one inundated with power, as if skimming through an article.

“Yes, let’s do…” Sumire pauses, turning over her next words on her tongue, “A…sura…” she tries, and then: “-san,”

Akechi sighs. Akira laughs and says, “Thank you for trying.”

“It’s harder than you think…” grumbles Sumire.

With an eye roll and a flick of his hand, Akechi reels in Asura’s presence. Sumire flinches at the gap in energy the Persona had just inhabited.

“No need to worry. This one’ll be of use,” he grins, yellow eyes glinting darkly. His tone is lilted, leisurely, like he’s talking about the weather. “I wonder what sort of untapped potential will arise from this particular peon. Down you go, now.”

In her mind’s eye, Sumire can envision the Persona being thrown off the Gallows, dissipating into a thick cloud of blue shimmer. She feels a brand new surge of electrified energy tear up her spine, settling to rest just behind her eyes.

“Remember when you did this to me?” Akira asks Akechi, nonchalant.

Sumire chokes on air. “ _What?_ ”

“You were asking for it,” Akechi states matter-of-factly, at the same time as Akira rushes to elaborate, “It’s okay, he was just playing around,”

“Wh— I— You— that’s not the point!” Sumire stammers, chains clinking with her incredulous hand gestures, “Couldn’t you have died…?” Then, at the amused looks on their faces, she hastily adds, “…wait, actually don’t answer that…”

With a grin showing a flash of teeth, Akira cracks his neck as if straightening out a crick. “I’ll just leave it up to your imagination, Trickster.”

“…The Trickster aside,” Akechi turns to acknowledge him, scowling. “Our Master will punish you for assuming my responsibility as executor _later_ , I’m sure, so I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he crosses his arms with a haughty huff.

“ _Or_ , you could assume his responsibility in particular, so we can be even…”

“I’m sure you’d like _that_ , wouldn’t you? The Inmate was right, you _are_ shameful.“

Sumire fears where this is going. She clasps her hands in front of her, eyes nervously darting around to land on anywhere that isn’t Akechi or Akira. “You know, I… think I can hear my teammates calling for me…”

Like slow cogs, they both turn to regard her once more; Akira with his usual smile that always seems to make light of any situation, Akechi with a noncommittal expression and slightly pursed lips. They all exchange glances.

“All right.” Akechi then gives the warden opposite him a final pointed glare and says, through grit teeth, “I’ll deal with _you_ later.”

Sumire can’t resist; she giggles at them. Beaming, she says, cheerful, “Senpai, I really hope you’re still alive the next time I come back here. Go easy on him, Akechi-san.”

“You’re leaving me here? With him?!” Akira gasps, sounding almost scandalized. He flings a dramatic hand to his chest as if wounded. “My Trickster… how could you?”

Akechi’s golden eyes snap to his in an instant.

“Excuse me, _your_ Trickster?”

He starts pacing menacingly toward Akira, baton at the ready. Akira gives a wild grin, steps backward, and waves at Sumire. She waves back just as the departure alarm blares and echoes over the Velvet Room, signaling the Inmate taking her leave back to the real world. The sound is easily overlaid by the din of a baton being struck against the ground.

“Since when were _you_ her favorite?” Akechi’s saying, keeping the pace in his attempt to corner Akira. They end up halfway across the prison by the time Sumire moves back to her cot. “Like she’d favor someone who practices his jokes while she’s gone for the next time she gets back. Are you saying her taste is that terrible?”

“Oh, now _that’s_ hilarious, Goro, did you forget about the time I heard you whining about those few days the Inmate was absent because she was on a trip to Hawaii—“

“This coming from the crybaby who goes to sulk in the corner like a toddler on time-out the minute she exits the Velvet Room—“ 

Then, Igor: “Boys, _what_ could you possibly be arguing about _now?_ ”

Sumire allows herself a small, indulgent smile as she listens to the wardens’ voices fade. She drifts off on the cot, body feeling featherlight as the fabric of her world begins to form itself around her, and her real bed materializes. She thinks, for a minute, about her outlandish luck, and how unbelievable of a situation she’d somehow landed herself in.

But she loves it all the same. All of it; the bantering wardens, the dingy little attic, her motley band of thieves, the weight of Morgana on her stomach as she sleeps…

Raising an unconscious hand to card her fingers through his fur, she thinks again— a bit incredulously, but still gratefully— about how lucky she is, and lets that pleasant thought carry her off into a sound slumber.

Perhaps this will continue to be an interesting year after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was, evidently, my first P5 work. Yeah, that might keep happening. If it does, that's cool. If it doesn't, I was never here.


End file.
